


Anything You Want

by shine_alive (orphan_account)



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Angst, Could Be Canon, Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 18:17:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1788562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/shine_alive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different take on Spider-Man's initial visit with Harry Osborn. With the dark cloud of his illness casting a shadow on him, Harry Osborn will give Spider-Man anything, <i>anything</i>, in exchange for his healing blood. After Harry discovers Spider-Man's identity, the offer still stands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything You Want

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to MKML for beta-ing yet again for me so quickly and for accommodating this random whimsy. x

Frustration and tears welled from within Harry as he leaned in closer to Spider-Man, his eyes never leaving the two impersonal, apathetic semicircles that seemed to stare back without seeing. “I’m already dying,” he whispered, his words dropping like stones in the stillness. “You can’t make me die more!”

“But it could do something worse.” The white semicircles pointed downward, avoiding Harry’s gaze. If Harry could see past the mask, he would see—what? The slight embarrassment yet overwhelming self-confidence of a superhero vigilante too shy to collect his due yet begrudging this one extra mile?

“Okay,” said Harry, pulling away as his high regard of Spider-Man fell to pieces. “All right. How much? How much do you want? You want a boat, or—” He racked his mind for his most valuable possessions. “You want a plane, you want money—how much do you want?”

“I don’t want your money—”

“Everybody wants my money!” snapped Harry. “They’re all after the same things, they want my money, or they want me. There isn’t a person in the world that can’t be bought! What do you _want_?”

Spider-Man kept his great big eyes averted, not answering.

Harry suddenly deflated. “Look,” he mumbled, “Anything you want, and it’s yours, I swear.” In a fit of desperation, he set his glass on the table and slid to his knees, scooting himself over and nestling between Spider-Man’s knees. “Anything.”

Through the tight-fitting material of the suit, Harry saw Spider-Man swallow visibly, and knew he’d made the right choice.

“Do you want me?” he asked, shaking off his sense of dread to smile a little. Negotiations with money were difficult enough, and with diplomacy alone, even harder, but Harry Osborn spoke the language of seduction fluently. He pushed himself up off the floor to lean in close to Spider-Man, inhaling the scent of clean generic drugstore detergent clinging to the fabric, staring the strange suit in the face.

“I—”

“Shh. I can give you what you want.” Harry’s lip curled. “Come here.” One hand slid against the side of Spider-Man’s black-on-red patterned face and another braced himself against Spider-Man’s thigh, rippling with strong muscle. Harry leaned in and pressed his lips against where he thought lips might be. He couldn’t tell with the mask. He pressed his tongue against the fabric, licked at it and tasted fibers in his mouth.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Spider-Man’s fingers dig into the plush arm of the couch, leaving imprints so deep he wondered if the leather might split under the force.

“I know you want me,” he continued to murmur, lowering his voice to a barely-there rasp. “They all do. I can give you what you want—” he smiled again “—if that’s what it takes.”

He pressed another kiss to where the lips would be. “Everyone can be bought,” he said simply, gazing up at the white patches. “You’re no different.”

Suddenly, he frowned. “Wait, wait, no,” he muttered. “If I’m going to suck you off, I should be able to see your face, I should—” he reached for the edge of the hood, hooking his fingers under the fabric and feeling warm skin underneath.

“No!” Spider-Man gasped, reaching to grab Harry’s wrists. “No, no, no, you can’t—”

But with one motion, Harry had already yanked the hood up over Spider-Man’s head and back down to free his face from the fabric. His arms fell limp to his sides as Spider-Man’s hand brushed back unruly brown hair, his familiar brown eyes looking up at Harry with a mixture of anger and resignation.

“You—you shouldn’t have done that,” said Peter Parker quietly.

Harry trembled in shock. “I shouldn’t have?” he seethed, voice tense with fury. “You _lied_ to me, Peter, I thought you were—”

“—no, you really shouldn’t have done that—”

“—my friend.”

“—you don’t understand, it’s not safe.”

Harry slumped to the floor. “Peter fucking Parker,” he whispered. “I was disappointed that Spider-Man would stoop so low before he’d save me. I never thought _you_ would, Peter, I thought you were my friend.” He looked up at Peter from between his knees, and Peter tried to smile wanly, but couldn’t maintain the expression.

“I am your friend,” Peter said earnestly. “But I told you, it’s not safe, when my blood mixes with your blood, it’ll—”

“No. Shh.” Harry rocked back on his heels, his lips parting in a grin as he looked up at Peter.

Peter froze.

“I get it.”

Peter’s tongue wet his lips quickly, before opening his mouth. “What?” he croaked. “What—what is it?”

Harry’s smile twisted. “Friends can be bought too.”  
Before Peter could protest, Harry’s hand darted to the small silver zipper at the throat of the Spider-Man suit and yanked it down with one swoop, exposing Peter’s body. The sudden cool air raised goosebumps on the taut skin stretched across lean, tensed muscles, no doubt gained from his intensive, rigorous, world-saving workouts.

"Stop, man, what're you doing?" Peter looked down at him with lips quirked quizzically and eyes smiling as if expecting Harry to leap to his feet at any moment and break out laughing at the look on his face.

But no one was laughing.

Harry lowered his eyes again, one hand firmly pushing Peter so that he hit the plush back of the sofa. The other tugged the zipper on the suit down even further to expose the entire length of his cock, still trapped behind the fabric of his briefs but straining against the soft cloth as it swelled. With practiced efficiency, Harry took the length in hand and stroked it once, twice through the fabric, teased it until it became fully, achingly hard. His other hand, still pressed against Peter's chest, registered the quickening of his breath and the low moans that vibrated within.

Another quick glance up. Peter had thrown his head back, his eyes closed; his lips parted slightly to let shallow breaths pass through. Harry was doing it right. Of course he was. He'd had plenty of practice in having his way with the initially reluctant and with getting what he wanted. This time he simply had to combine the two.

Harry bent his head and blew a soft stream of cool air at the wet spot of pre-come before giving the head a kittenish lick. Peter hissed through his teeth. "You like that, huh?" asked Harry, grinning when Peter cursed quietly. "That's only the beginning, my friend."

His deft hands pulled down the front of the waistband, finally releasing Peter's cock from its confines. He took a moment to size it up, taking in its average girth and impressive length, its thick veins, its already wet, shiny head. "Nice," he whispered.

Peter squirmed, and another look up revealed his flushed cheeks. "Will you get on with it?" he muttered. 

"All right, all right," said Harry, before closing his lips around the head and swallowing the length.

It tasted all right, Harry thought vaguely as his throat relaxed and Peter tensed, whimpering. Not the most delectably heady or subtly salty, but still nice. He still couldn't reach the base of his cock, though, so he reluctantly covered the difference with his hand. Being experienced as he was, unsuccessfully deepthroating felt almost like a failure.

Not that Peter seemed to notice. As Harry pulled back and went down again, building up a rhythm, Peter moaned audibly and seemingly unabashedly, his toes curling with sensory delight. Harry's tongue glid over Peter's slit; Peter let out a startled, uncharacteristic squeak and tightened his hands into fists while Harry continued his assault on Peter's head.

This was almost fun, Harry had to admit. Peter smelled a clean sort of musky, enough to make Harry's own cock twitch. When Peter tentatively dug his fingers into Harry's hair, he let him, and felt shivers run from his scalp and the nape of his neck down his spine.

When Peter's hips began to stutter, thrusting shallowly into Harry's mouth, Harry scraped his teeth against his shaft in warning, but the edge seemed to help bring Peter off. Peter cried out without restraint now, his eyes squeezed shut, his powerful thighs trembling. "I'm going to come," he managed to gasp raggedly before spurts of salty, sticky warmth filled Harry's mouth. 

Harry swallowed every drop, milking every bit of come from Peter before releasing him from his lips with an obscene slurping pop. He wiped the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand before rocking back on his heels. "You liked that, I know it. So give me your blood."

Peter's eyes flew open and he immediately yanked his waistband up, fingers fumbling a bit with the zipper on his Spider-Man suit but pulling it back up nonetheless. "Harry, Harry, I'm so, so, sorry," he mumbled, tugging the zipper back up to his throat, covering the fit and lean and very vulnerable body Harry had seen only moments prior. "I can't do that."

"Look at me!" Harry seethed, his blood rising again. His good mood from sucking Peter's cock vaporized. "It's a fair trade. I gave you something you wanted, now give me something!"

Peter still did not look at him. "I shouldn't have let that happen, I'm so sorry, Harry. Shouldn't have let you do that."

"Did you want more? If you want to fuck me in the ass I'll let you, just promise me that you'll give me your blood!"

"No!" shouted Peter. "I can't! No matter how much you give me, I can't give that to you! I'm trying to protect you, why can't you see that? You can't have my blood because it might destroy you and I, I," he pressed his lips together in a thin line and his voice sounded choked when he pressed on, "I can't let that happen to you."

"So you'll watch me die this way instead?" screamed Harry, tears welling in his eyes. Peter shuddered and turned to leave, but Harry grabbed his forearm. "Don't you dare fly away after this! Do you know what it means if you leave? You're condemning me to die!"

Unexpectedly, Peter leaned in close and kissed him gently, softly, for one quick moment. When he pulled away, Harry's cheeks felt wet, but they weren't his tears.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Peter whispered.

And then Harry was flying across the room. His back hit the wall, knocking the breath from his lungs. He fell behind the couch below with a crash. Dazed, he clambered to his feet only to find the window open. "No," he whimpered, hobbling his way to the sill.

He looked up and down and all around, but was only met with the sight of the tops of skyscrapers and the sounds of distant traffic far below.

"No! Damn you Peter Parker, you fucking goddamn shit!" he screamed into the vacant space outside before sinking to the floor, utterly spent. 

He swiped savagely at the tears on his cheeks, scratching his own skin on accident. Harry's heart, already stung by the unexpected betrayal, thudded wildly, as if prematurely squeezing out all the beats it had left. The seconds ticked by and Harry lamented them, lost time enlarged against the backdrop of his inevitable premature death. He felt quite sorry for himself at that moment and allowed himself this one minute to cry, to mourn himself, until he gave one great final sniff and sat up straight, eyes blazing.

Even if it took the rest of his numbered days, he vowed to himself, Peter Parker would not escape this unscathed. He would pay for abandoning Harry Osborn, his _friend_. 

Thus renewed with purpose, Harry wiped his face with his shirt and pushed himself to his feet. He had another captive soul to visit.


End file.
